Mirror to the Multiverse
by BookwormDragon
Summary: Following my usual tradition, an unbetaed collection of unrelated one shots and developed plot bunnies for Star Trek XI. May include uncatagorized crossovers. May include spoilers. Enjoy.
1. Source of Life

**Source of Life**

By BookwormDragon

_**Disclaimer:**_ _Neither the Star Trek Universe nor any of the Characters in the Star Trek Universe belong to me. No profit is made from this story on my part. No copyright infringement is intended._

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Jim grinned in anticipation as he headed over to the water café. Featuring fresh water mixes from many different Federation worlds, water cafés were extremely popular with the crews of newly docked Starships, despite the expense of the amenities that they offered. They were so popular, in fact, that you could find them in nearly every well-established port, spaceport, or deep-space station. The closer a port or station was to the common trade routes, the more exotic varieties would be offered at its water cafés - but even relatively remote locations offered the most commonly requested varieties.

When you had lived planet-side for most of your life, you tended to take something as essential as water for granted, unless you were from a desert world, of course. You never really thought about why it tasted good to you; about the unique mix of minerals and trace elements that made it desirable and familiar; or about how fresh and readily available it was.

Living on a Starship really brought the simple luxury of drinkable water to your attention. Oh, shipswater was perfectly safe and potable, especially on a modern ship like the Enterprise, but it was still heavily filtered and recycled, often several times. And the effort to make it as palatable as possible to as many people and species as possible actually ended up making it desirable to no one, of course.

Nobody really liked shipswater, no matter where they were from or what species they were. It just didn't taste like home, and no amount of treatment could really eliminate the artificial, chemical under-taste. No, onboard ship, no one drank plain water if they could help it. Teas, coffees, and other culturally traditional drink mixes helped to disguise the flavor a bit, but nothing tasted exactly like it should have, no matter how hard you tried. Even replenishing the ship's water stores frequently from local planets didn't help much: it still had to be treated to make sure it was safe, and it still tasted alien to most – if not all – of the crew.

Shipswater was the number one reason why Starfleet ships were alcohol-free in theory, but not in practice: fermented beverages stored well and at least tasted the way they were supposed to. Like most Captains, Jim looked the other way as long there were no problems. In return, the crew policed themselves most rigorously: no one showed up for duty drunk, there were no alcohol-related fights, and any other problems were settled quickly and unofficially.

And here was another unmentioned benefit of rank: no long queues at the water café. In the beginning, he had tried to insist that he would wait his turn like everyone else, regardless of rank, but it had made most of the crew uncomfortable – something about looking bad in front of the dirtsiders. So he didn't bother to try anymore, just placed his order as quickly as possible so that everyone else could have their turn.

"I'll take a super-size Earth-Standard with ice, open cup. And a flat of bottled Earth-Standard delivered to the _Enterprise_ Shuttle Berth – Dock 5c, as well, please."

By the time they were a few weeks out of port, real Earth water, even if it was bottled, would be more valuable than Saurian Brandy. And if he felt like sharing with his friends, well…it was his choice, right?

In the meantime, he had been looking forward to drinking real water for weeks now. Icy, fresh water that didn't taste like a chemical experiment gone wrong. He understood now why Admiral Pike and his other superior officers always took such pride in offering fresh water mixes instead of alcohol in social situations. To a career Spacer, nothing said wealth and prosperity like being able to offer your guests fresh water from their own planets. It was the kind of luxury that you just couldn't appreciate until you had to go without it.

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**Author's Note:** Just a random little piece of worldbuilding that was prompted by my recent discovery that Jim Kirk's Enterprise didn't have replicators in either TOS or the Reboot universe. I had been thinking about the number of crew members who would use their replicator credits to replicate drinking water, and why they might do that. But it took an entirely new direction after that, prompted by something I read in a non-star trek original story: that after months in space drinking only recycled water, a spacer would gladly exchange sex for just a single drink of fresh water.


	2. Faulty Equipment

**Faulty Equipment  
By BookwormDragon**

_**Disclaimer:**_ _Neither the Star Trek Universe nor any of the Characters in the Star Trek Universe belong to me. No profit is made from this story on my part. No copyright infringement is intended._

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When Kirk finally had a few moments, he gathered his PADD full of collected data and headed to Pike's room.

"Captain Kirk."

"Sir."

"Come in son, what can I do for you?"

"I um, I…"

"Spit it out."

"I want to sue the makers of our parachute packs."

"Sue the - ?"

"Sir, you've read the reports. We could have died out there, if not for Chekov. That pack was rated for at least three times my weight at that velocity, so it should have had no problems with me and Sulu together. That's why I jumped off the platform after him – despite what some people think, I'm not suicidal!"

"You have a point there. Fortunately, Starfleet is way ahead of you. We're already in the negotiations phase…the company is going to be paying an astronomical amount of fees and penalties, and testing and replacing all the parachute packs, Fleet-wide, at no additional cost to us. We've got it covered, son."


	3. The Secret

**The Secret**

By BookwormDragon

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_**Disclaimer:**_ _Neither the Star Trek Universe nor any of the Characters in the Star Trek Universe belong to me. No profit is made from this story on my part. No copyright infringement is intended._

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**Warning: implied OMC/OMC, implied Spock/McCoy, and strongly implied OMC/OFC.**

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It's a secret that the McCoys have been keeping for generations. So many generations, in fact, that it doesn't even really feel like a secret anymore – it's simply tradition now.

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Nearly two hundred and fifty years before humans launched their first warp-capable ship and headed out into space to greet the universe, the universe came to them in the form of a small scientific scout-ship from Vulcan.

Of course, the ship had never intended to actually make contact with the relatively primitive natives, but the best laid plans of mice, men, and Vulcans often go awry.

An unfortunate encounter with space debris, a failure of integral components of the ship's shields and engines, and the fragile little scout ship was forced to crash-land on the continent which the inhabitants referred to as "America". Only one member of the crew survived.

Stavil was found amongst the wreckage and rescued by the inhabitants. In this, the relatively unpopulated state of this particular region of the planet worked in his favor, for word of his crash and subsequent rescue never drew the attention of the authorities. Instead, he was rescued by a group of independent, curious, and intelligent humans belonging to the House of McCoy, or so they identified themselves.

Stavil was not actually aware of much of this for some time – he had been unconscious and near death when the humans found him and carried him away to their dwelling. They had also gathered and hidden the remains of his ship and recovered the bodies of the rest of his crew: Starrn, T'Nill, and his own bondmate T'Yen. When he was well enough to move under his own power, they had taken him to their graves, situated in their own Clan's burial place, and had allowed him to grieve in his own way.

Aching mentally from the sudden loss of his bondmate, Stavil had nonetheless settled in to live his life as best he could. After ascertaining that there was no possible way to repair his destroyed ship and contact Vulcan, he had been forced to accept the logic of creating a life for himself here. The humans were generous in their care and treatment of him, and displayed a laudable curiosity towards him. It was not the response he would have predicted, given what they had observed of human behavior during their months of passive study, but it was what was. Kaiidth.

Over time, as his understanding of Human language and customs increased, he discovered the reason for their welcome and lack of fear: they were not members of the dominant religious tradition of this land, but rather followed their own traditions in secret. Apparently, their beliefs – which much more closely resembled his own then did the other religious beliefs of this planet – were strictly forbidden by the larger society. Punishment for being caught practicing such traditions was harsh, and so the McCoys lived apart from others, publically professing belief in the dominant traditions when necessary, all the while practicing their own beliefs in strict secrecy.

In this, he had been quite fortunate. The dominant religious tradition of the time ascribed to a belief in a deistic individual who served as the ultimate opponent of their central deity, a being they called either God or Jesus Christ. The opponent of this God/Jesus Christ deity was often referred to as Satan or the Devil, and he was believed to epitomize all that was Evil in humanity. His appearance was traditionally held to be very similar to Stavil's own: he had pointed ears and an arrogant bearing. Of course, he also had cloven hooves in the place of humanoid feet and a forked tail, attributes which Stavil did not posses, but he was doubtful if those who ascribed to such illogical beliefs would be swayed by that fact.

However, the McCoys were much more sensible about the matter, as their beliefs did not include any mentions of this "Satan" entity. Indeed, they had at first thought him to be Fae, a race of apparently powerful yet fickle beings whom they believed to resemble him. As they described them, the Fae were neither inherently good nor evil, but were much given to mischief, some of which could be harmful to humans. As they were so powerful and foreign to humans, it was important not to offend them, for to do so might draw their attention in a negative manner. Thus, the McCoys had taken him in, treated him with respect and done their best to heal him. If he _was_ Fae, it had been their hope that their actions would cause him to look fondly upon them, or at least not give him cause to harm or torment them.

This was a highly logical course of action on their part, given their limited knowledge of the situation, and one that he could easily comprehend. Even so, allowing them to continue to believe that he was one of these Fae and therefore capable of visiting harm upon them once he understood their misconception was not acceptable. It was dishonest, immoral, and a poor way to repay the hospitality which they had shown him. It had taken some argument on his part, but he had eventually convinced most of them that he was not Fae. While most accepted the truth of his origins, there were still a few in the Clan who doubted, but they kept their thoughts on the matter private in order not to discomfit him.

As time passed, it became clear to him that his appearance was a threat to them all. Most importantly, his pointed ears set him apart. He could learn the language, avoid situations which might result in revealing his green-tinted blood, shield himself from the cold, alter his eating habits, and mimic the customs and behaviors of his hosts, but he could not completely conceal his ears. A hat would serve to hide them at times, but there were many situations when the local social customs dictated that the hat must be removed: upon entering a private dwelling or certain public buildings, when in the presence of an unrelated adult female, and when engaging in discourse with respected members of the community, for example. And without the hat, an inopportune breeze or body movement could disarrange his hair enough to allow his pointed ears to show.

The McCoys themselves had been welcoming, but he harbored no illusions about the greater populace – in general, humans were still a violent, barbaric, fearful people. Their emotions were chaotic and uncontrolled. Should they discover the truth of his presence, there was a 94.7 percent likelihood that they would do him immediate harm. Furthermore, there was a 77.9 percent likelihood that they would also harm his hosts. The thought of harm to himself did not disturb him that much – there was a part of his mind which still urged him to follow his bondmate into death. But that harm might also be visited upon his hosts – that was intolerable, unacceptable. Not only would permitting it be dishonorable, and a serious breach of the Laws of Hospitality, but he had become fond of the McCoys and their emotional, human ways.

After meditating on the situation, the solution had been logical. The shape of his ears could not be adequately disguised; therefore, it must be altered. Had his ship been intact, it would have been a relatively simple and reversible procedure. But his ship was little more than a pile of scrap metal now, so the procedure would have to be undertaken using only the primitive tools available locally.

The House McCoy Healer, an intelligent, unbonded female of around twenty-four Earth years in age, possessed the necessary skill and tools to undertake the procedure, but had been difficult to convince, nonetheless. Her duty was to heal, not to harm and disfigure, she had rather tartly informed him when he had first approached her with the proposal. And besides, she knew little about the way his body worked – she could inadvertently cause him greater harm. Her concern was logical, and so he began to teach her everything he knew about the functions of the Vulcan body. He was not a Healer, but like all Vulcans, he had received extensive instruction in the functioning of his own body so that he might exercise control over it.

Melissa's human stubbornness had persisted, however, until his secret was nearly revealed during one of the Clan's monthly trips to the nearby community, where they attended the religious rituals performed there in order to avoid arousing suspicion. Fortunately, the individual who had observed his ears was extremely intoxicated and the Elder McCoy was able to brush off his panicked ranting about the Devil as the delusional ramblings of a drunk.

But the damage was done. The repetition of such an occurrence would be highly risky – the townspeople's curiosity would be roused and they might demand proof that he was not, in fact, the Devil. Given the whispers that already circulated about the House of McCoy, such an association with this anti-deity figure might prove impossible to overcome. The necessary course of action was now clear to everyone, even the stubborn Melissa.

And so the painful procedure took place and his ears were rounded to more closely resemble human ears. At least they had discovered herbs which would render him unconscious and ease his pain. If they had not, he had little doubt that Melissa would have refused to proceed, regardless of the logic of the situation.

By the time his ears were scarred over and fully healed, he had been on the planet for 3.2 of its rotations about its star. His health had improved greatly, which turned out to be less positive than one might think. He was never sure exactly what had caused it: his new state of good health, the loss of his bondmate, the relatively fertile state of his environment as compared to Vulcan, some imbalance in his body's chemistry, or a combination of all of these things. He had not expected his Time to come upon him for another 5.9 local years, yet it came anyway.

He had made tentative plans to secret himself far away from the vulnerable humans and attempt to achieve satisfaction through meditation when his next Time came – true, he knew of no one who had succeeded in such an endeavor, but rumors and stories of its possibility surely would not exist among his people if it was truly impossible. Regardless, in the end, all his plans were for naught.

He had accompanied Melissa into the forest, to protect her from harm whilst she gathered the herbs necessary for her trade. Carrying the local weapons with the understanding that he might have to use them on another living being was uncomfortable, but the demands of survival had caused him to endure many uncomfortable situations while on this planet. The House of McCoy had done him a great honor by tasking him with this important duty, and he would not fail to execute it successfully. Melissa's value to the Clan was high, and her status corresponded with that. By tasking him with her protection, the House of McCoy was placing a great trust in him, for local customs dictated that unbonded females must be carefully attended and protected at all times in order to protect their reputations. To betray that trust was unthinkable.

He had been suffering some discomfort recently, and had found his emotions more difficult to control than usual, but he had never considered Pon Farr as a possible cause. So when the Fever fully manifested, he was utterly unprepared. And within his immediate vicinity was Melissa, a being with whom he was highly compatible. He had even melded with her before, first to learn her language and then to impart knowledge which her language lacked the proper words to express. Her mind was strong, well organized, and perfectly capable of sustaining a marriage bond with him – she was not a telepath or an empath, but her psi-centers were highly active, especially for a human. Her physical form was attractive to him and similar enough to his own that they would be able to find satisfaction with each other. Her scent told him that she was in the fertile part of her reproductive cycle. There was a sense of friendship between them. In short, she was everything that his body and mind sought in a mate.

Except that she was not Vulcan, and not informed. He would not force himself on her if she was unwilling, even if he had to turn the weapons he carried on himself so that she might escape. Such a death would be both honorable and logical. But he no longer felt the pull to join T'Yen in death. He wanted to survive. Could he control himself long enough to explain it to her? Would she be willing? Could he avoid dishonoring her before her Clan?

It was a great act of will, one that he would never have considered himself capable of, but he was able to restrain himself long enough to explain the situation to her, at least briefly. He was far enough into the Fever that he felt no shame discussing this most taboo subject with her, and, in fact, wondered why he had thought it logical to withhold the information from her in the first place. Fortunately, she was a Healer, and therefore more comfortable discussing such intimate topics than other human females might have been in such a situation. Her questions were logical. What was involved? Would he harm her in his eagerness? Would he marry her before her Clan, so that neither he nor she would be dishonored? Could he control himself long enough to accomplish that?

He explained the process with a bluntness that caused her to blush with embarrassment. He would do his best not to harm her, but precautions would need to be taken, given his greater strength. The act of bonding would render them married in the eyes of his people, but he would undergo any rituals which she desired – he had no intention of dishonoring her. Unfortunately, the rituals would have to wait until after the Fever had been assuaged, however. He did not possess the necessary control at this time – in fact, close proximity to any males would be dangerous. He might mistake them for challengers and commit violence upon their persons.

He would always be awed that she had agreed. The act of joining with her mind and body was one of the most pleasurable and fulfilling experiences he had ever had. Her mental strength and control soothed and eased his mind even as her passion inflamed him. Her easy submission to his needs was utterly different than a Vulcan female's response, but it served its purpose. Unlike T'Yen had done, she made no attempt to dominate him mentally or physically, but rather offered him her control as an aid his own. As a result, his own instinctive response – to fight until his mate proved her ability to control him, physically and mentally – was altered. He felt protective and affectionate towards her, and was able to control his physical strength to some extent to avoid damaging her fragile body. He still left bruises, but did not break her bones or rend her skin as he had feared that he might. She welcomed him freely into her mind and thus he wasn't forced to tear at her shields until she grudgingly granted him entry. Instead, he was able to use his mind to bring her greater pleasure and ease her physical discomfort. They had managed reach a cave often used by the Clan when hunting, and so were sheltered from the elements. Once his urges were temporarily eased, he used the stored supplies to fashion a bed of sorts for her comfort.

Normally, the Fever would have lasted for many days, but part of that may have been caused by the constant struggle of minds between the male and the female, until the male was too exhausted to continue to resist the female's control. There was no such struggle between Stavil and Melissa. Instead, she slipped gently into his mind, helping him to shore up his own protections and reassert his own controls. She made no effort to dominate him and he felt no need to resist her. It was contrary to everything he had been taught and had previously experienced, but it was effective just the same. She offered her mind and body to him freely and with joy, and his own mind and body responded to that.

As evening neared, he was able to allow her to eat and tend to her bodily needs. She worried that her brothers would come looking for them when they did not return as planned, and so set out a coded marker to warn them to stay away. Hopefully, they would heed it – he did not wish to consider what might occur if they did not.

Three days later, he declared their attachment before the Clan, cementing their joining. In remote areas such as this, a declaration before witnesses was sufficient to preserve the honor of all parties, but they would still be required to undergo further rituals the next time the required authorities were present and available. His decision to take the McCoy Clan name was unusual by human standards, but easily accounted for by the original explanation which had been made for his strange behavior – the McCoys had discovered him severely beaten and near death on their land, and although they had nursed him back to health, he had suffered a blow to the head and had lost many memories, including knowledge of his origin and background.

Eight point five months later, the first part-vulcan McCoy was born. Tara was healthy despite her early birth, but she had her father's pointed ears and physical configuration. Her two hearts and green blood could be easily hidden, but her ears had to be immediately rounded. Melissa had been furious at the necessity, and Stavil had also illogically wished that it was not essential for his daughter's safety and survival, but such was life. And better if it was done now, when she was young and the scarring would be minimal. Her survival and good health was unexpected – all the probabilities had pointed to her involuntary abortion before she was developed enough to survive outside of the womb. That a hybrid had first been conceived, and then survived beyond its birth on this primitive world, without the aid of modern medicine or genetic engineering was a miracle, to use a human term.

Three local years later, their first son was born – also healthy and mostly Vulcan in appearance. His birth so soon after the birth of his sister would have been quite scandalous among his father's people, but here three years was considered quite a large gap, especially for a woman of his mother's age.

In all, Stavil would father four live children with Melissa McCoy. After Melissa's death of old age, he bonded with Rebecca McCoy, the granddaughter of Melissa's eldest brother, and had three more children with her. Rebecca contracted pneumonia and died of complications on her 47th birthday. Grieving, Stavil resisted taking another bondmate until the choice was forced upon him by biology. He surprised everyone by choosing a distant male relative of Rebecca's, not another female. Perhaps choosing wasn't quite the right term – Richard had been extremely persistent in his pursuit, and had finally worn the Vulcan down. They would die together, both of old age. Stavil was 187 local years old. By the time of his death, the vast majority of the McCoy Clan could claim Vulcan blood, however diluted. Stavil's great-great-great-great granddaughter Lisa was born with red blood, one heart, and round ears, although she still showed strong empathic abilities.

Beyond genetic heritage and increased psi-abilities, Stavil had left another mark on the McCoy Clan: he had passed down his language and culture. Even today, at private Clan gatherings, one might hear people conversing and cursing in a language which greatly resembles modern Vulcan dialects. Indeed, it could be mistaken for a Vulcan dialect. But, although the McCoys are, by and large, dedicated to peace, you will see little suppression of emotion among them, for Stavil had never been exposed to the modern, extremely strict interpretation of Surak's teachings, and so could not pass them on to his children and grandchildren. They quote Surak with a smile on their face, an occurrence which any modern Vulcan would doubtlessly find most discomfiting.

Most McCoys measure very highly on the modern ESPer scale, which is not actually intended to measure telepathy and empathy (as humans are not believed to posses such traits) and so can't be considered reliable in their case, a fact which they have faithfully kept to themselves. No McCoy has been born with green blood, two hearts, or pointed ears for several generations now, but their mental abilities only seem to get stronger with time, not weaker. Even today, some male McCoys still Burn, although the symptoms are mostly mental and psychic now, since their blood no longer carries the chemicals necessary for true Pon Farr. But they are still driven to seek out compatible mates and form mental and physical bonds with them. Occasionally, distantly related McCoys will form bonds with each other, but for the most part they marry outside of the family. They are a highly diverse and scattered bunch, but their common heritage still holds them together.

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"And that's how I know about Pon Farr and what you really need to deal with it," Leonard finished his history lesson with a scowl, glaring at Spock. "Stop being an idiot, man! I'm here, I'm willing, and I _know_ we're compatible. Refusing me is illogical, damn it! Your death isn't going to help anything."

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**Author's Note:** Well. This came to me suddenly and I wrote it all in one fell swoop – when I was supposed to be writing a speech that was due in eight hours. It's a little rough and unpolished, but I think I'm pretty much done with it. The muse has left me. So, here it is for you to enjoy.


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